


Storms and Anchors

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [8]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Exhaustion, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hope vs. Despair, Multi, Pace Mates, Pack Family, Plague, Pre-Earth Transformers, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6215728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a plague strikes the Minibot city and no help comes from the larger frames, Brawn is hard-pressed to protect his little family, much less keep faith for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pace - A company or herd of mules; in my headcanon, a family of Minibots; also a traditional expectation and an honor among Minibots who form one.
> 
> One - the first Minibot to agree to join the proposer's pace; Sequein - the second to agree to join; Trilitare - the third to agree to join; Quanidre - the fourth to agree to join; Quiendus - the fifth to agree to join.
> 
> Culumexian - the form of Cybertronian spoken by residents of Culumex, the Minibot city on Cybertron, or the residents themselves.

“What’s the count now, Brawn?”

“The same as it was last time you asked,” Brawn murmured gravely, readjusting his thermal tarp against the cold, stale air. He couldn’t promise that and he knew better than to try keeping Huffer in the dark, but it was all he could think to say. As far as he knew, the nearest medical facility had already run out of berths.

Huffer gulped, optics flickering to the other side of the street as he whispered, “I saw Cloudshift’s pace-mates being carried in…”

Brawn and Cloudshift had never gotten along, but Brawn wouldn’t wish that loss on anyone. Even if he didn’t wish it and actively prayed against it, it was there, creeping over the whole of Culumex. All thirteen sectors were suffering, no matter how great the care or the housing.

From what Brawn could gather in the scarce communications through the quarantine, thirty more in this sector alone had joined the Allspark. There were many Culumexians who blamed the nearest cities of the larger frames for their current plight. No one could be certain and its origin hardly mattered now, when all they wanted was an end to it.

Its course was quick and merciless, claiming the older mechs first before wearing down the strong. There was grief and dread, but the panic started rising only when it began taking their sparklings. It was a blow they couldn’t afford; the celebrations of newsparks were too few and far between to their people as it was.

Brawn’s strategy so far had been to keep his pace firmly indoors, minus his own occasional comings and goings to deliver rations to other homes. The only reason Huffer was outside with him right now was because he was too tricursedly stubborn and claustrophobic to stay in.

If Huffer’s voice was a little rougher around his next words, Brawn didn’t mention it. “And is there any word from the **verriesen**? Are they sending help or are they leaving us to suffer on our own?”

Brawn shook his head with a knowing sigh. “You know them.” He watched Huffer’s optics flare with hot light; unlike so many others, his One still had the fire in him to be indignant at the larger-frames’ lack of care for their people and their wellbeing.

Deciding not to even approach that source of conflict, Huffer vented deeply and questioned, “How are you? We haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk.”

Brawn lifted his hands listlessly and then dropped them to his waist, assuring him, “I’m fine. I’ve been transporting fuel from the market to different hospitals. Y’know the drill; we got three more volunteers today too.”

“Will that convince you to stop exposing yourself?” Huffer asked pointedly.

“I wouldn’t ask anyone to deliver to us if I wouldn’t do the same,” Brawn protested, “and I just said I feel fine.”

Huffer sighed, but there was some pride in his words when he commented, “You’re named well, Brawn.”

“And you’re getting soft, One,” Brawn chuckled, nudging him lightly and earning a shove in return.

“Sire!”

Only one bot called him by that title. Brawn spun around sharply to find Bumblebee bounding toward him, a wide grin on his face. Windcharger wasn’t far behind, looking a bit harried, as though he’d chased Bee all the way here.

“Bumblebee, I told you to stay inside!” Brawn declared sternly, causing the smaller bot to stop up short at the surprising greeting. He let Windcharger latch onto him so he could keep his balance.

“B-But…Sire…” The little one trailed off, as though just realizing he’d disobeyed.

“He wouldn’t just _stay_ ,” Windcharger grumbled. “And he’s just quick enough to avoid my magnetism. I thought I shouldn’t let him come alone…”

Brawn noticed the flicker of amusement over Huffer’s face and he softened slightly too. The hope not to be punished, worn on both Bee _and_ Windcharger’s faces, shouldn’t make his chest tighten as it did, but it stirred memories from his old pace. Despite everything that had happened, he still had some fond memories of their laughter and utterly reckless abandon.

“Good work, Charger,” he said at last, raising an eyebrow when Bumblebee giggled and squirmed free of Windcharger’s hands to latch onto the groove of his knee.

“Sire! Will you take us to the sanctuary?”

It was a surprising request. “You don’t have any thermal tarp,” Brawn stated, picking him up so they could share the one he wore. “You’ll be too cold, little buddy.”

“Oh, please!” Bumblebee cried, wriggling in his arms in a fit that he knew probably wouldn’t see any end. “Primus will help us; we just need to get to him! Please, Brawn, _ple-e-e-ase!_ ”

Already weary of this display, Brawn glanced at Huffer, who rolled his optics and nodded simultaneously. “Just five minutes there,” Brawn announced sternly. “So you’d better get your requests to Primus faster than a Velocitronian!”

Bumblebee beamed and hugged Brawn’s neck gratefully, snuggling against him as he was escorted to their destination as quickly as possible. When they were there, Bumblebee, clearly trying to be ceremonious, confidently strode right for the steps, followed by the three older mechs. Brawn muttered his own prayers, much more detailed than Bumblebee’s request that everyone everywhere be healed. He just wanted his pace-mates to stay safe and whole; thereby on their journey back he truly tried to keep them away from any of the others brave or healthy enough to mill about in the open air. They were his fellow deliverers, those who had been exposed, and they’d been in the open air too long already. The emptiness of the street was starkly noticeable and the strain and sorrow on those they met wasn’t easily hidden.

When they got home, Huffer wandered off toward the kitchen, while Windcharger and Bee hunched over data tablets to use for studying and writing. It was Windcharger’s duty to neatly write Culumexian runes on his screen which their youngest could copy on the other. While they worked on that, Brawn went about checking the news reports and when he grew too sickened by the losses, he turned it off. At some point he realized he could no longer hear the clicking of either stylus.

“Bee, our home Tongue isn’t going to write itself. Just finish that paragraph,” he scolded lightly. “Windcharger, can you help him? Write a few sentences?”

“Sure thing, Brawn.”

Something in his pace-mate’s vocals made Brawn look up. Dutifully Windcharger had picked up the stylus once more, his strokes too disordered and sluggish to keep the runes from overlapping, ruining the whole paragraph, but he didn’t seem to notice, rubbing tiredly at his optics before squinting at the screen for too long before finishing the line he’d started.

Beside him, Bumblebee had laid his helm against the table, the boundless energy that would’ve had him squirming or giggling completely gone.

“Charger?” Brawn prompted, unease creeping into his spark when Windcharger looked up at him, blinking but not quite focusing. The next klik, Brawn was at his side, grasping his shoulder.

“Charger, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say anything?” he demanded anxiously.

“I just thought I should finish, so he could…” The rest of his answer was lost in an uncharacteristic slur. Keeping ahold of Windcharger’s shoulder, Brawn moved to Bumblebee, ghosting the free hand over his back and then his chamfron. The whole of his plating was scalding to the touch.

“Cliffjumper!” Brawn barked, the urgency in his tone bringing the red mech into the room at a jog instead of a walk, but he stopped up short when he saw Windcharger leaning heavily against the back of his chair and Bee sprawled on the table.

“Oh,” Cliffjumper gasped, backing away by impulse. “Oh, slag, _no!_ ”

“Fill the wash-racks,” Brawn commanded shortly. “Now. We need to cool ’em down.”

Bolstering himself, Cliffjumper nodded vigorously and skidded back down the hall, out of sight.

“Bumblebee…H-He was warm this morning,” Windcharger recalled, optics more alert as they widened with realization. “I—I didn’t say, I thought it was just…I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Is he going—will he—I’m _sorry_ —”

“It’s not your fault. Bee?” Brawn prodded, gently shaking the younger mech. “Bee—Hey, buddy, I need you to wake up.” He received only a mewl of complaint but shook him more insistently until pale blue optics pried open.

“M’helm hurts,” he mumbled, sending an icy chill through the energon in Brawn’s veins. Much as he had earlier, he gathered Bumblebee into his arms and turned to find Huffer watching them in alarm.

“Send the medics a letter,” Brawn instructed, gesticulating toward the data pads. Huffer nodded, scrambling past him and clearing the screen. As he scribbled down their message, Brawn noticed the way the runes tilted and squirmed away from the stylus; his hand was shaking.

**_To White Wing General:_ **

**_Add our pace to the quarantine list and send provisions when you can._ **

**_– Home 4891_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Verriesen: "larger-frames", plural form of verriese


	2. Chapter 2

“Rusty?” The single word managed to convey almost all of Brawn’s astonishment and dread.

“Brawn,” his friend returned politely, tipping two fingers at him in a salute.

“You need to leave,” Brawn announced, starting to recoil back into his home. Rusty stuck a foot in the door as it was closing.

“I didn’t know you had the authority to _scold_ me,” he remarked, his tone laced with some steel. “I knew when you stopped joining me what must have happened and while I’m fit to make rounds to the sick paces, I’m going to do just that.” Sorrow tore at Brawn’s acquiescent smile and Rusty sobered, adding, “Your pace-mates?”

Two orns had passed since Huffer had sent that letter to the medics and they had progressed just Brawn had expected them to. “They’re alive,” he managed, trying not to let his guilt, grief, and fear become audible in his voice. “My **trilitare** and **quiendus** , they gave in to it just a joor or two after being outside. It got to my One last night.”

A shadow fell over Rusty’s features and he hefted up a kit of supplies. Taking it and holding it close, almost protectively, Brawn nodded his thanks. “Come back only if you have to,” he urged. Rusty made a show of rolling his optics before heading back down the path. Brawn waited until he couldn’t see him any longer to withdraw and open the kit on the tabletop.

Various fuels, medical-grade energon, and painkiller chips of several different levels. Since when did they have enough to spare this many? Brawn was sure Rusty had gone out of his way to finagle more supplies than were allowed for them. He sighed softly at the thought and then swallowed another one when he found the bottom lined with different jars of oil and lubricant, as well as a fairly thick packet of rust sticks and a data pad.

**_The rust sticks are for the sparkling, so don’t touch them until he’s better. This includes you, Cliffjumper. If I find out that the little guy never got any, I’m going to kick you— all of you!_ **

**_– Rusty_ **

Brawn wasn’t sure if what he wanted more was to laugh or to cry. The sturdy metal table squeaked slightly under his sudden grip on its edges. Culumexian runes carved into the sides were biting into his hands and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Most of this would simply delay the inevitable; as of yet they still didn’t have a cure for whatever this plague was. Who knew if Bee would even live long enough to refuel again?

He couldn’t think that way, he realized as his spark twisted painfully. It would just remind him all over again that this was his _second_ pace, it was in jeopardy, and he could do nothing about it.

“Brawn—”

The tremulous voice broke through his thoughts, followed by a terrible cough. Snatching up the kit and struggling with its contents as they threatened to spill out, Brawn hurried into the berthroom where they had isolated the sick pace-mates. The air was thick and hot in the room, as they’d moved several of the portable heat generators to fight any chill they lamented about.

Windcharger was the one who had called for him, curling tightly into himself and clutching his arms against his chest as his cough seemed determined to hollow him out. Beside him, Bumblebee whimpered quietly, too weary to continue his harsh cries from earlier.

Carefully propping Windcharger up, Brawn muttered comfortingly, “Easy, Windcharger. Vent slowly, that’s it…”

“Brawn—” The hoarse whisper and wide optics begged for him to make things better. “H-He’s thinning out—”

Startled, Brawn pulled Bumblebee’s tarps away, earning a choked sob from the sparkling. They had gently removed some of his outer plating when he’d agonized about the chafing and now he could clearly see the ugly outline of energon veins underneath the visible mesh, made malleable and thin by the plague. He was further alarmed to see raw patches where the little one had scratched, leaving fresh welts glistening blue. He was sure his spark stopped, just for a nanoklik.

“You’re going to be okay,” Brawn soothed in a low voice, trying to keep himself composed. “Rusty brought something that can help.” Taking up a shammy, he quickly wet it with the oil in the kit and swept it over the cuts, prompting Bee’s tears all over again.

“No, no!” he mewled, wriggling and trying to escape.

“This is going to help,” the pace-leader repeated over the suffering sparkling’s wails, trying to convince himself just as much as the others.

Windcharger curled around the smallest pace-mate, but no comforting words left him as he rubbed his own wet optics. Brawn turned his gaze away and blinked in disbelief at the third blanket, lying in a heap without its owner.

“Windcharger, where’s Huffer?” he demanded anxiously.

“C-Cliffjumper…he took him to the kitchen,” Windcharger gasped out. This plague…if it could make a brave mech who had endured so much sound so frightened and small…Brawn had to find Huffer, he reminded himself, unsure of when he’d lost that train of thought.

As Brawn rose onto unsteady feet, Bumblebee latched onto him with desperation from some unknown fear.

“Don’t go!” he pleaded. “It’s cold! Please, _don’t_ _go!_ ”

“I’ll turn up the generators,” Brawn promised as he untangled himself from his **quiendus** , despite the fact that he knew Bee was just trying to stall his departure. “And then I _have_ to bring Huffer back before—before he gets cold too, okay? We’ll both come right back.”

“But what if you don’t?” Windcharger whispered, causing Brawn to falter. Optics watering but clearly fixed on his leader, the **trilitare** continued, “I…had a dream where we were alone. We were in the dark and I couldn’t see what was around me, I just knew I had to keep ahold of Bee…” On instinct he pulled the smaller mech closer, wheezing. “And…I could see you but you were far away and you couldn’t hear me. We were screaming and you couldn’t hear—no one could! We were _alone!_ ”

“I’m never going to let that happen,” Brawn vowed in a low voice; through tangled throat cables he couldn’t manage anything louder. He swallowed several times, stoked up the generators, and started to turn for the door, only to freeze a second time and watch in dismay as Windcharger lifted a hand, scratching restlessly for a long minute.

When his hand curled back over Bumblebee’s arm, his fingertips were stained blue.

* * *

The vigil passed in a frightening blur of minutes, joors, _orns_ of utter despair until Brawn couldn’t tell one orn from the other. How long had he spent watching over his ailing pace?

Bumblebee whined and kicked and cried until he ran out of tears, trying to synthesize more while his limbs lay limp and fragile. Windcharger was racked with a shattering cough, one which only worsened until his voice broke to a raspy croak; it seemed to lock up all of his systems for a series of horribly silent kliks before his vents released again. Huffer wouldn’t be still, often trying to rise only to run out of energy and cause himself more damage when he fell.

The third time this happened, Cliffjumper had hauled him up from the washroom floor, demanding, “What the frag are you thinking?!”

“What if—what if one of you can’t make it to the sickroom?” Huffer whined, fidgeting weakly, trying to recoil from the red mech’s hands. “I don’…don’ want you to…”

“Listen,” Brawn cut in, hovering a hand over his friend’s chamfron. He didn’t even need to touch it to feel the heat. “ _I_ don’t want you doing this anymore. You focus on yourself.”

Huffer blinked glassily at him, brutal, pitiful honesty sharpening his features. “I don’ want to…It’s not m-my _job_ , Brawn…” He yelped miserably as Cliffjumper hauled him away before Brawn could answer. It was a kindness, as Brawn wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to find a response to that.

Closing the door to the sickroom behind him, Cliffjumper stalked back and forth like an agitated cougaraider. Brawn followed his trail, waiting for him to speak.

“It’s not my job either, Brawn,” his **quanidre** spat bitterly. “I gotta move. I want to go out there!”

“I can’t let you,” Brawn said shortly, earning a sharp wave of the hands as though Cliffjumper meant to erase his words.

“I’m not asking, I’m letting you know what I’m _going_ to do,” Cliffjumper informed him smartly, grimly. “I’m gonna find out what’s going on out there and once I do, I’m going to come back and tell you what I can. We can’t just let them—” He broke off abruptly, bowing his helm, fists falling loose at his sides.

Part of Brawn was astonished when he heard a quiet gasp of anguish from the resident spitfire, but the other part—the larger part at the moment—felt like crying with him. Moving forward, he gingerly placed his hands on Cliff’s shaking shoulders, silently offering what comfort he could.

Just like that, the younger mech’s EM field went blank and he shrugged away, shaking his helm with bright optics. “I’ll see you soon, Brawn,” he proclaimed huskily. “Hold down the fort.”

Brawn couldn’t find the strength to stop him as he strode out the door.

—

Cliffjumper didn’t return for what seemed like several orns, almost a quintun, but Brawn could never be absolutely sure of the amount of time that had passed. Worse, there wasn’t even any word.

Despite or perhaps because of his misery, Bumblebee noticed the absence soon enough and every morning brought Brawn to his side, trying to help him separate nightmares and reality when they were too similar. Windcharger had stirred with a whimper of his own, barely heard under Bee’s crackling scream, hands instinctively reaching out to soothe, and Huffer had curled into himself as far as he could, hands over his audials. He had finally given up on being brave, Brawn realized, his spark breaking further when he thought it wasn’t possible.

Kneeling, he gathered Bee up as he had the orn all of this had started. “Don’t be scared,” he nearly pleaded, resting his chin on the sparkling’s helm. “Don’t be scared.”

“Wan’ CJ,” Bumblebee sobbed weakly into his shoulder.

“Shh…” Brawn descended onto his chair, letting his **quiendus** clutch at him.

“No! No—CJ—” Whether he was delirious or his processor was entirely clear, Bumblebee seemed determined to fix onto the one thing Brawn couldn’t give him. A cold knot of fear churned in his chest, surfacing as a thousand questions which eventually became just one.

 _Will Bee live to see him again?_ To have their youngest and weakest still with them, after so many had surrendered to the plague, was nothing short of a blessing.

“You’ve been doing so well,” Brawn murmured forlornly. “Keep fighting, he’ll be here soon—”

“No, now! I wan’ him _now!_ ” This lament earned half-sparked attempts to rise from Huffer and Windcharger, with Brawn fumbling to stop them and comfort Bee simultaneously.

“No, stop, stop, stay still…Bee, it’s okay, I’m here—”

“CJ! Please, _now_ — _need_ him—”

That was all it took. Ashamed, Brawn left Huffer and Windcharger to hold the small, weeping frame between them while he sent a letter. His fingers and processor, thickly muddled, ruined the first, second, _and_ third drafts of the more detailed message, so he decided to make it as simple as he could and send it to as many medical facilities as he could think of.

**_To Cliffjumper of 4891:_ **

**_Quanidre, the little one is crying for you. Don’t let him go unanswered._ **

**_– Brawn_ **


	3. Chapter 3

Yet again Brawn wrestled with his pace-mates. He put up with Bumblebee’s tearful complaints about the smell and discomfort of Rusty’s salve and the larger mech rocked him, trying to coax him to recharge by singing. It had always worked when Bee was younger, but it was hard to now when hopelessness weighed on the home and stifled his words, clutching at his throat. He needed to reboot his vocalizer several times to get through the verses.

Slowly he started to ease the smaller mech down, but as soon as he moved, Bee simply stirred from the fitful doze and cried for Cliffjumper, earnestly struggling against him to dig small hands under his plating to itch. Desperate, Brawn reluctantly resorted to binding Bumblebee’s hands in synthetic cloth to keep him from damaging his mesh further.

Eventually he wondered if Windcharger, just as persistent as Bee, needed the same, but that wasn’t the greatest danger the attuned mech presented. At one point, when he was checking the data logs to see if Cliffjumper had sent any message, Brawn wasn’t too surprised to hear someone’s vents hitching with shuddery gasps, though if it was from chills or fear he couldn’t tell. He focused on it more fully when he heard a strident crash and two united cries of alarm.

Sprinting onto the scene, he found Huffer slumped against the far wall, Bumblebee barely visible with him. His One was shielding their smallest pace-mate with his arms, venting shallowly, panically. Brawn couldn’t pay them much attention after that, as he stumbled under the strength of magnetic vibrations. Windcharger was tossing and turning through whatever fever dream he was having, lashing out with his augmentation when he didn’t even mean to.

Brawn knew better than to try holding him down on his own, so he sought after the cuffs Windcharger had given them upon his arrival, made of a specific alloy that could contain his magnetism. They had never used them, of course, but they had kept them just in case of some instance like this. “If I ever get out of control, whatever the cause,” Windcharger had explained, “just clamp these on me.”

Huffer had barely looked at the set and when Brawn had pulled him aside, he’d muttered, “I’ve seen some of those in my life… _felt_ them. Once you’re in them, you can’t move, other than to vent, and even that’s questionable.”

Shaking these thoughts from his aching helm, Brawn trailed a hand down the wall to stay balanced and then considered, rapping gently on the closest door, which he was confident had been locked. “Gears?” he whispered, clearing his throat to try again and sound more like his normal self. “Gears?”

He had barely seen his **sequein** these past few—or was it many?—orns; as soon as Gears had heard the plague had come into their home, he’d sequestered himself in his room, only emerging to grab fuel and scrub himself thoroughly in the adjacent washroom. He’d apologized for it, asked their understanding, and Brawn had accepted it, but then he’d had Cliffjumper to help him in the hypochondriac’s stead.

“Brawn?” came the returning whisper. “What is it?”

“I need you to help me with Windcharger so I can put the cuffs on him.” Brawn almost laughed and if he had it would have been feeble. It sounded ridiculous, but he knew Gears would understand exactly which cuffs those were. “Out you come.”

After what seemed like a very long hesitation, Gears’ door slid open.

From the looks of it, Gears had barely recharged since he’d locked himself in, Brawn noted with concern. He was probably too busy agonizing about his health and he did look fairly haggard. At least he was upright and alert, edging past Brawn without touching him. Brawn expected this, so he wasn’t too offended; Gears was just delaying exposure until he had to actually enter the room. Gears paused outside the threshold, venting more rapidly and preemptively shivering a little. Brawn could see the process he was going through. Should he look like an unfeeling coward in front of his leader or need to take a longer wash than usual? Finally he made the right choice and charged in.

“Hold him down,” Brawn instructed and Gears frowned distastefully before nodding tersely and dodging one of the flinging arms, the unseen magnetic pressure from the hand belonging to it denting the wall where he’d stood. Steeling himself, Gears fairly climbed onto the larger mech in an effort to capture his limbs and hold them, clenching his jaw tightly.

“I got him,” he grunted, wincing when Windcharger whined, thrashing and nearly upending him. “I got him; hurry up, Brawn!”

Brawn glanced at Huffer and found he’d fixated on them, optics imploring. _Not the cuffs…anything but those_.

“I wish I didn’t have to, but you need to be safe to rest,” he reminded him. Huffer released Bumblebee, straining to stand on legs which seemed to want nothing more than to collapse underneath him. He opened his mouth to protest further and Brawn moved toward him, clutching his shoulders and then regretting it as his hands were nearly seared by the heat. Even so, he didn’t release him, pressing him gently against the wall so he would give up on holding his own weight. Huffer shuttered his optics, relaxing against the wall for support. There was more to it than that.

“That’s what I thought,” Brawn answered his silence, but there wasn’t any pride in his voice. He’d won the mostly onesided argument, so why did it feel like a defeat? He squinted at the mech in front of him, squeezing his arms where he held them. Huffer swallowed, snuffling almost inaudibly and not quite looking him in the optic as he coughed several times. Acting on a hunch, he tugged on the plating near his One’s shoulders, only for Huffer to try shrugging away from him. It resulted in both of them almost losing their balance, but Brawn recovered for the both of them, jerking away the plating to find Bee and Charger hadn’t been the only ones in need of the oil.

“ _Frag_ ,” he groaned, pressing his aching chamfron against Huffer’s and demanding, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Huffer whimpered some kind of excuse, unintelligible even though they were close, throat too dry to make decipherable sound.

“Brawn!” Gears snapped, sputtering when Windcharger elbowed him, trying to free himself. “A little less quality time and a little more—agh!— _cuffing!_ ”

Somewhere he’d forgotten that was what they’d come for. Whirling and blinking as his vision swam, he moved to assist Gears. It took several minutes of Gears cursing and tumbling and Brawn using all of the strength he could muster to get Windcharger completely pinned down and immobile. When Brawn finally locked the cuffs, Gears sighed deeply and slunk off the berth, flinging his hands about as though that would rid them of any malware. Brawn ignored him, turning to confront Huffer further and finding he’d disappeared.

“For a sick mech, he sure doesn’t seem to get the hint,” Gears commented with a growl in his voice, stalking out and then exclaiming in disbelief, “What in the Pit are you doing?!”

Brawn emerged to find Gears tugging on Huffer’s arm, dragging him away from the front door. Shaking his helm, Brawn moved toward them, adding his efforts.

“Don’t you _dare_ say you’re going to look for Cliffjumper,” he warned.

All Huffer’s vocalizer emitted was a static-filled attempt, so in lieu of saying it aloud he lifted his hands and used some chirolinguistic slang. The gist of it, if Brawn was reading right, was that he was needed here.

“Oh, don’t we know it,” Gears sighed. “But you know Cliff. He’ll come when he comes…” Glancing at Brawn, he added in a pedal tone, “Is there any word?”

“Not yet,” Brawn sighed. “I’m going to send another letter, Huffer, alright? And if he doesn’t answer, I’ll go looking for him myself. Is that good enough for you?”

The engineer’s shoulders slumped and Brawn put his arm around them, squeezing another exhausted cough out of him. “That’s what I thought,” he repeated.

**_To Cliffjumper of 4891:_ **

**_They won’t admit it, but our pace-mates are afraid. Come home._ **

**_– Brawn_ **


	4. Chapter 4

**_To Cliffjumper, 4891:_ **

**_Please, please hurry. They’re weakening._ **

**_– Brawn_ **

—

**_Cliffjumper, 4891:_ **

**_Are you alive? Hear me and answer me: are you alive? If you’re cowardly enough to be considering the alternative, I’ll let Gears kill you. You don’t know what nasty things he might think up to do that. Because of you, he’s been touching sick people._ **

**_– Brawn_ **

—

**_Cliffjumper:_ **

**_Almighty Primus, quanidre, where are you? Why won’t you send word?_ **

**_– Brawn_ **

—

**_Cliff:_ **

**_When you get here, I’m going to punch you._ **

**_– Brawn_ **

—

Brawn didn’t receive any letter in return and by now he almost hadn’t expected it. The frozen smell of death was permeating Culumex. Who could say if there was still **verriesen** life happening outside Minibot borders?

* * *

Somewhere along the line, Pace 4891 ran out of the oil, the lubricant, and the rust sticks. Rusty may be angry—if he was still alive; he hadn’t returned—but the sweets were the only fuel Brawn would allow himself time for and it was barely enough to sustain him, but all energon was being given to his mates and he wouldn’t dare think of withholding any for himself. It was for them, everything was for them, and he had to stay tireless and resolute. He had to lead them out of the darkness.

* * *

His helm pounded with a heavy thud, easing and then returning in full force, more insistently than before. No—

Three more thuds had him moving by instinct, slow and steady, holding onto the table to keep himself upright as he shook off the dredges of recharge and tightened the thermal tarp he’d bound around himself. The door—When had his systems rebelled and tried to power down?

He could hear Gears talking in low tones to Huffer, accented by the occasional cough and the trill of Gears’ personal scanner. Brawn was frankly surprised he didn’t come out screaming and dive for the wash-racks, but it seemed apparent what was happening, that it was too late to ‘unexpose’ himself.

Brawn misjudged the distance between himself and the door, quite literally slamming into it and then gripping the frame of it to keep the floor from swerving out from under him. The locking code didn’t come to him for several kliks, long enough that whoever was on the other side knocked again, sharp and impatient. The sound hurt his audials and made his helm-ache worse, so he was relieved when the door finally obeyed and slid open. He focused his vision more clearly and found a guilty red mech standing outside, barely looking at him.

“CJ,” he gasped, hauling his pace-mate inside and negating the threatening letter he’d sent by enveloping him in a hug. Afterwards he remembered his anger and shoved him away. “Where in the slaggin’ Pits of Kaon have you been?” he growled, suppressing a cough. “And it better be a bot-slaggin’ good answer or I’m going to break something you care about.”

“Uh—I was going from sector to sector,” Cliffjumper admitted. “Tryin’ to see who had it worst and who had it best, to see what was different between the healthiest sector and ours.”

It explained how the letters had probably never reached him and Brawn couldn’t fault the logic of his search pattern, so instead he pointed toward the room. “Go,” he commanded stonily. “Bumblebee needs to be held. Don’t be surprised if he starts crying when he sees you.”

Shamefacedly Cliffjumper strode past him, entering the room, rewarded with a strike at his arm from Gears and a croak from Huffer. Brawn leaned against the front door, watching as small, weak arms tried to lift and Cliffjumper intervened, scooping the sparkling up as though he were made of glass and starting to walk the room, murmuring meaningless comforts. Brawn’s spark ached.

—

Brawn stood at the washroom counter with his tarp still wrapped protectively around him, tighter than before, helm bowed, venting heavily, trying to compose himself. His fingers gripped the counter, almost cracking, mostly to keep him standing upright under the painful weight on his shoulders.

Since Cliffjumper’s return, Bumblebee had been more cooperative, though he only seemed to cry more often and he hadn’t recovered in the least. Cliff was a trouper about it; most of the time, Bee was being held instead of being tucked in. Huffer was still worsening and Windcharger seemed to have peaked, holding steadily in his level of suffering.

 _Still_ he could do nothing about it but stumble through the same routine, supporting them through the oppressive heat and supplying them with all tarps but his own through the racking chills.

“Brawn.”

He straightened with a sharp in-vent, wiping his face when he looked in the mirror. “Oh.” Cliffjumper had said he would be reporting the findings of his journey once he managed to coax Bumblebee into recharge. Brawn hadn’t expected it to be any time soon, but apparently the **quanidre** was more in tune with what worked. “Anything?”

Haggardly Cliffjumper shook his helm, his ‘trouper’ façade buckling. “Nothing. Primus, Brawn, I found _nothing_. The malware is all over the city.” As sudden as it was, Brawn wasn’t at all surprised when his pace-mate, made volatile with stress and fatigue, exploded. “Slaggit, we have the best engineers on Cybertron, and _no one_ knows how to isolate it!” Releasing something between a sigh and a whimper, he stretched out his left hand, supporting himself against the nearby wall.

Brawn noticed that immediately, pivoting and looking his hunched frame up and down warily. “Cliffjumper…”

Cliff kept his position, one hand against the wall and the other out for balance. “Just…give me a nanoklik…” he panted, “…to catch—my vents—” Suddenly but somehow fluidly he slid toward the floor. Brawn intervened before he could hit, catching hold of him and pulling him close, as though contact could cure him.

“No, no, not you,” he whispered, lowering the both of them to the floor. “Not you, CJ…” Lifting his helm, he hollered desperately, “Gears?! Gears!”

Gradually Gears appeared at the open doorframe to the washroom, a wet cloth dangling over his arm. For a nanoklik he was silent and then he mumbled, so softly that Brawn almost didn’t hear, “Cliff.” It wasn’t a question, but Brawn still nodded jerkily.

“Get his berth ready,” he repeated a phrase that was all too familiar now. “We have to carry him there.”

Gears’ impassive face dropped and he ducked his helm, his optics giving off a telltale sparkle. “Our pace, Brawn!” he agonized, throwing the arm free of the washcloth behind him at the general remainder of their apartment. “Huffer’s in the kitchen with his helm in a bucket, coughing up energon. Windcharger is comatose and Bee…he could be on the edge!”

Brawn’s face was tightening with understated pain. He glanced fleetingly down at Cliffjumper, tightened his grip, and then asked lowly, “And you?”

Gears almost looked startled at being asked, but it quickly dimmed into shame as he tugged off the washcloth and straightened his arm, showing him energon running through his circuitry, its glow visible _through_ his armor plating. Brawn stared at it, mouth opening in horror. Gears, looking close to tears, tucked his arm close to his chest, hastily replacing the washcloth and covering the damage. Neither had words for a long minute and then Gears admitted their shared fear.

“Brawn…I don’t know if we’re going to get out of this one.”


	5. Chapter 5

After maneuvering Cliffjumper over his shoulder and carrying him to his berth, Brawn left it to Gears to get him settled. From the slow, plodding way Gears moved, it was likely he was going to be there indefinitely. Afterwards the pace-leader wandered, making listless rounds.

Windcharger was shivering violently, his systems overrun. Brawn straightened the blankets and tucked them in close, at least so he would have something to do. “Hang in there, Charger,” he urged, squeezing Windcharger’s left shoulder and feeling the tremors through his fingers.

True to Gears’ word, Bee was very still, almost deathly still. His plating sported a grayish undertone and Brawn impulsively told him, “You’re too still, Bee. Move…please…” If the little guy heard him, he disobeyed, remaining completely motionless. Brawn pressed his lips into a thin line and started to reach out, thinking better of it and pivoting away.

Gears was slumped in a chair by Cliffjumper’s berth, optics dark, entire frame limp. Brawn solemnly approached, readjusting his **sequein** to a more comfortable position.

He had finally deprived himself of too much recharge or he had lapsed into stasis, Brawn surmised hopelessly, but either way Gears was burning with fever, so Brawn didn’t try to rouse him, pressing his hands against his own face and getting a surprise when he felt how cold his hands were.

Lastly he filled the entryway to the kitchen. Huffer was slumped against the wall by the disposal bucket, energon smeared across his face and hands and the floor. When his glazed optics found his leader, the engineer stirred in a feeble attempt to rise. Brawn intervened for him, coaxing the shuddering frame into his arms and reeling upright with a sudden, strong wave of dizziness. He really, _really_ needed recharge. _As soon as Huffer’s in his berth_ , he decided wearily, gathering his energies.

“S’okay,” Brawn mumbled over the choked gasp he earned when he lifted the other mech from the floor. It _wasn’t_ okay, but he continued. “It’ll pass; I promise…it’ll pass…”

If Huffer were to attempt speaking, Brawn had a feeling he would say something to the likes of “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” but since he didn’t, neither the leader nor the One said anything more. Brawn was focusing on an effort not to release him or fall, thereby damaging the both of them. Huffer wasn’t a large mech, but right now he felt like the hardest weight Brawn had been forced to carry in a long, long time.

They reached Huffer’s berth just before Brawn’s arms gave out and Huffer slumped awkwardly on top of the thermal tarps, too drained to move.

“Rest,” he urged, swallowing the tickle of a cough as he lowered his voice further, trying to simultaneously sound comforting and make sure his voice didn’t wake the others. “Find some strength, **unuceim** …you’re so much stronger than this…Y-You and the others…have been through so much. Don’t let this be what—” The words stalled in his throat for several kliks before he struggled on. “—what takes you all from me.” Shivering, he glanced at the heat generators, which seemed far too low on power to combat the cold, and the thermal tarps he’d painstakingly gathered were all gone. When had he run out? How could he have overlooked it?

Ex-venting shakily, he peeled the lone thermal tarp he had kept for himself away from his plating and draped it over his friend as best he could; his hands wouldn’t stop their tricursed _shaking_ , even more so when Huffer tried to grasp one, too weak to manage anything more than a brush of their fingers.

In Brawn’s spark, dread and doubt lingered as he returned the brief touch and then drifted away, running rough fingers along his neck. He needed to make sure Gears was…

Before he could finish his train of thought, he noticed something strange: a smear of blue against the doorframe. Ever so slowly he lifted his hand to find the same blue painting his fingers. Only then did he glance down at the damage he had hidden with his thermal tarp for so long, revealed now in his battered, almost translucent chest plating. Like Gears, like Bee, his plating was wearing down, buckling under the strain…

One or perhaps both of his legs gave out then and he clawed at the doorframe, but it was too far. Darkness folded in around him, heavy, cold, restraining, and then he hit the floor.

* * *

“So the great pace-leader deigns to visit once in a while. I never thought I would live to see it.”

Brawn couldn’t find the words to answer, but he could see the outline of the mech crouching nearby, could see the sharp edges of the familiar smile. The smile might try to be kind, but Brawn had always seen the mocking behind it; there was no difference here.

“Don’t look at me like that, Brawn.”

Brawn could only blink, bewildered. “Cardsharp,” he gasped; his vocalizer crackled as though he hadn’t used it in vorns.

“That’s right. Hello, old friend.”

“Why are you here?”

“This is my home; why shouldn’t I be here?”

As he struggled up from whatever frigid floor he was on, Brawn couldn’t find a reply that would stand up to the question. Instead he asked another. “What do you _want?_ ”

“I have exactly what I want. All I’ve wanted for a very long time now is to discuss exactly what we’ve done to each other. I’m proud of my part in it. Are you? Are you happy with everything you’ve accomplished?” Waving a blasé hand, Cardsharp rose and walked the lengths of the shadows until he found a pair of chairs. He sat, primly folding his hands and nodding to the other. “Prove you’re not as brutish as you used to be. Can you sit and have a civilized conversation with me?”

With a snarl, Brawn slammed the chair aside, looming over his former pace-mate. “What are you doing here?!”

Sighing and shaking his helm, Cardsharp stared up at him, keen optics glittering. “Temper, temper. Can’t I come to greet you and your pace? I got impatient to see you all; it’s long overdue, isn’t it?”

All of the energon in Brawn’s veins ran cold as he shook between fear and fury. When he found his voice again, it wavered ever so slightly. “You can’t have them.”

“Why not? Because you’ve done such a masterful job ‘protecting them’?” Cardsharp’s laugh was a sweet, cheerful thing, hiding the malice behind it. “Your pace…your _pace_ …Do they know what you did to your first? I know the version you would tell, but do they know how the rest suffered? Do _you?_ Did you ever care to find out?”

“What are you saying? Speak clearly!”

“Does the sparkling know my name yet?”

Venting sharply, Brawn clenched his fists so tightly he felt his fingers draw energon. “I won’t let them go. Not _any_ of them.”

Cardsharp’s face softened into another smile, this one pitying. He leaned further back in his chair, completely unconcerned by the vow. “Sometime soon, you may not have any choice in the matter.”

Whatever light that had burned in the room went out, smoke curling in its wake, leaving them in pitch blackness. Brawn reeled forward, seeking after something solid and finding nothing to grasp, nothing to tell him Cardsharp had ever been there. All he found was cold, empty air around him; he was falling.

Though he landed on something padded, it struck the wind from his vents and a terrible ache crawled through his nervecircuits. How long he lay stunned, he didn’t know, but eventually he stirred, scanning what he could see of his surroundings without moving, not even turning his helm. Conclusively he muttered, “Where am I? This…isn’t home.”

A strange voice startled him by answering calmly, “In a medical facility, not far from your city. You’ve been here for a diun, and I’ve been your chief medic, if you care to know.”

Blinking, Brawn slowly turned his helm and found an equally foreign frame sitting at the side of his berth. Brawn’s optics widened abruptly as he discerned that this medic was a **verriese**. The larger-frames had come to help them? No, the medic had said he’d been taken from Culumex. The realization that he had unwillingly been brought into the outsiders’ world sent a prickly chill down his backstrut.

The medic smiled slightly in greeting. “I’m Ratchet—”

“A diun?! My pace-mates!” Brawn cried, sitting straight up and then hissing as his entire frame protested, sinking back on his elbows for support.

“Take it easy!” Ratchet scolded. “If you’re referring to the five Minibots we found with you, they’re recovering nicely. You were the one who gave us the scare. From the looks of it, you nearly worked yourself to death caring for them. You called them your ‘pace-mates’?” Repeating it contemplatively, he made a note of it on a data pad, which Brawn eyed warily. When Ratchet noticed the suspicious stare, he explained, “My services have never been called for in your city and I must say, you have some strange customs, but I admire your engineers. And the architecture, fantastic!”

“My pace-mates,” Brawn repeated sternly, trying to keep the chief medic on the right track. “What have you done with them? I have to see them.” He attempted to sit up a second time and managed it, folding his arms with as much authority as he could muster.

Ratchet shook his helm chidingly in response, barely looking up from his pad. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he refuted him anyway. “I’m ordering you to strict berthrest.”

Brawn looked him up and down incredulously. “And what are you going to do to make me?” Whatever this medic had done for him had worked; he was feeling strong enough that he might be able to take the mech on if it meant he could make sure his pace-mates were well.

Ratchet looked up at that, giving Brawn’s question a thoughtful pause for consideration. “Well, let me see…” Leaning over, the **verriese** promptly shot his arm with an auto-injector. Brawn yelped, clutching his arm in astonishment, and Ratchet shrugged lightly. His following words echoed, as if faraway: “The red and blue one said you would be a stubborn patient.”

The next time the pace-leader came to, he sat up cautiously, glancing around to see if the **verriese** was still there to stop him. He didn’t go so far as to leave his berth, however, once he noticed his pace-mates scattered through the room. The first thing he did was swat at Gears for warning the medics about him. The second thing he did was pat the edge of the berth, which Bumblebee eagerly climbed and burrowed underneath Brawn’s nearest arm, nuzzling against his side.

“One of the **verriese** found the coding we needed,” Huffer broke the silence. “It took them long enough. He said it would give a full recovery, but you…you looked…”

His voice died.

“I wouldn’t leave all of you willingly,” Brawn swore. “Just like I wouldn’t let any of you go.”

“Not without a fight,” Bumblebee piped up, swinging a hand at an imaginary enemy. Brawn wrapped his larger hand around the tiny fist, squeezing gently.

“That’s right…” He glanced around a second time, reassuring himself that they were indeed all safe and well again, that they wouldn’t be taken from him.

_“Are you happy with everything you’ve accomplished?” Cardsharp asked._

For now, he could say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this ending was long overdue, but I'm glad to have finally gotten it down! They deserved their happy ending after so much suffering <3
> 
>  ~~That seems to be a running theme in this series...~~ >.>


End file.
